Stalk Me
I laugh out loud in his face.
I didn’t mean to, but I did.
Because, I mean, look at him!
He's freaking gorgeous. Tonight he's got just a bit of blonde stubble on that movie star jaw. And his hair is not messed up from soccer anymore.
“I'm serious. And what about you, stripper Kiki?”
“Hmmm. One, I’m not a stripper. Two, they asked me if I have a nickname, and I stupidly told them that at home my little sisters call me Kiki. Like key key. When they say it, it sounds adorable. When freshman boys say it, it sounds slutty.”
“So maybe we’re both hearing things that aren't exactly true?”
“How many girls did you date last year?”
“Uh.” He hems and haws. Purses his lips. “I went out with eight.”
“That's like one a month. Let me guess, you loved them all?”
He winces. “Well, I heard you have a boyfriend.”
“I did, but when I came here we decided we should go back to being friends. He's my best friend.”
“Good to hear. Cuz you look like my next girlfriend.”
“Oh my gosh, did you really just use a pickup line on me? I thought you said you’re a sensitive soul. More like your soul is full of bullshit.”
“Uh, sorry. I don't know why I just said that. So hey, I gotta go, but save me a dance tomorrow night, kay?”
I give him a flippant, "Sure," along with an eye roll.
He turns and grabs both my hands. "I'm serious." He looks me in the eye, and I swear, I almost faint when he touches me.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Repeat after me:
Do not fall for a player.
Only date nice boys.
No! Don’t date any boys.
Remember the list.
Do not fall in love.
You can not fall for a player.
I could probably kiss him though. Would that be being me?
But then my mind immediately goes to doing him.
Oh, my.
I think I may be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder or something. I can’t seem to think straight around this guy.
I shake my head a bit, get the cobwebs that seem to have formed in my brain out, and walk back to my dorm.
How not to impress a girl.
8:20pm
Back at the dorm, in the safety of my room, my roommate is already in bed and asleep.
Seriously? Curfew isn’t even until ten-thirty. And I’m still on Pacific time, which means it’s only six at home. I change into a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt then text my mom real quick.
Me: So, I’m doing good. So far so good.
Mom: Any cute boys?
Me: Mom, I’m having a boy moratorium.
Mom: But, still.
Me: Yes, I have met some cute boys. One that is so good looking, he should be an actor. He’s like the God of all Hotties.
Mom: Did you talk to this hottie?
Me: Yeah, he asked me to go the dance with him tomorrow, but I said no.
Mom: WHY!!!????
Me: Cuz he’s apparently a player. And I refuse to fall in love again.
Mom: Players can be fun. You know who was a player before he met me, just saying.
Me: I’ll keep that in mind. Love you!
Mom: Love you more!
I turn on my lamp on and shine it at my bare wall. I’m ready to hang up the main decor for my side of my room.
It’s a fourteen by ten foot poster of the ocean. Brooklyn’s dad was lying on the sand when he took the photo. Kym had it blown up and mounted.
As I hang the poster, I start to get tears in my eyes. I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe I’m not home. With my family. With my friends. With Cush.
I wonder how mad Cush is at me. What lies Vanessa must be spreading. What she will do to get Cush to like her.
Fuck stalkers.
I get the poster hung up, then turn on the main light and appraise it. My roommate moans and pulls the covers over her head.
It looks fantastic. It’s the ocean right out in front of my house, there’s a big wave coming in to shore, and way out in the distance are Brooklyn and me, both up on our boards.
I sit on my bed and stare at it. Feel homesick. Decide to make my bed. I have my poster hung, my bed made, and am about to start unpacking clothes, and possibly call Brooklyn.
My phone vibrates.
I have a text message from someone called The love of my life